


World's Greatest Landlord

by Dat_Patriot



Category: One Piece
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dat_Patriot/pseuds/Dat_Patriot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanji loses the only family he's ever known, and is now without a place to stay. Luckily for him, Ace has a buddy with a room for rent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cold. Everywhere was cold. The air, the ground, his skin and even his heart felt cold. He knew too, that if he reached down to touch the face of the man who raised him, laying there as if he were sleeping, he would be cold. Zeff Black--the greatest chef in the city--now lay; his hands crossed over his unmoving chest and surrounded by colorful flowers in crystal vases.

Even the flowers lacked their usual warmth.

With a wavering hand, Sanji Black —the man's only adopted son—gingerly gripped the still chef's, marveling in the calluses he knew mapped those well-worn hands. Hands that had created masterpieces, hands that reprimanded and rewarded; hands that had taught him everything.

He was right; they were cold.


	2. Chapter 2

Sanji stood leaning against the outside of the funeral home, cigarette in hand and wearing all black—save for his striking blue tie—making his sunshine-blonde hair stand out all the more. He blew out a stream of thin smoke, enjoying the brief warmth the tobacco gave him before it was stolen once more by the late autumn chill.

He had been out of state when he'd heard; a culinary academy opportunity that Zeff had practically pushed him out the door to take. Sanji hadn't regretted it. The campus was small and homey, everyone around sharing his passion for food and instructors giving tips and praise to all the students. He'd left in the middle of a lesson after getting an urgent text from one of Zeff's sous chefs.

The following phone conversation was earth-shattering.

Sanji had packed his bags and left on the first flight he could get the next morning. One of the chefs he'd worked with at the restaurant had picked him up at the airport the following afternoon and drove him to the hospital to see Zeff. To see his father.

The blonde-haired man sighed, remembering all the times Zeff had "encouraged" him in his culinary career with anything from spoken advice to kicks to the head; sending him off to a high end culinary school had been the last gift the old man had given him.

A harsh chuckle escaped the young chef's throat, "Damn old man…"

The door to his left gave a loud creak as Sanji was joined by his friend who also leaned back against the scratching brick wall, medium-length black hair slicked waving around his face. Ace Portgas pulled out his own lighter-a zippo, black except for a red stylized spade on the glossy front-and flicked it open, watching the flame.

"He was a great chef."

That was one of the things Sanji liked about Ace; whatever he said it was with sincerity. No "I'm sorry for your loss" or "it's a shame he's gone" were passed like from all the other blank faces in the crowd. Zeff made his living as a chef and would have wanted to be remembered as the damn good chef he was, not just another "loss." It actually lifted Sanji's wallowed spirits, if only just a little.

Ace clicked the lighter closed, "Hey… You flew in from that cooking school, right?"

Sanji nodded, taking another long drag from his nearly spent cigarette, "I'm not going back." The blonde dropped the now-dead tobacco stick, snuffing it out with his foot, "I'm going back to the Baratie… Gotta finish what the old man started."

It wasn't any secret that Zeff's ultimate dream was to open a five-star restaurant, smack-dab in the center of town and roaring with life. After taking Sanji under his wing, that dream only intensified, except with a new purpose-to open a restaurant that his protégée could care for himself.

They even had the name picked out- _All Blue_ \- and it would be spectacular.

If only the old man's heart had lasted longer…

"I've gotta make sure our dream gets realized…" The blonde chef looked up to the vivid blue of the sky, smirking lightly to himself. "Him being gone just means that I've got to work my damndest."

Ace couldn't help but smile, despite losing his father, his friend didn't let it stop him from his goals. Typical Sanji. But there was still one problem…

"So, you got a place to crash while you're here?"

The momentary silence that followed spoke volumes.

"I... Didn't get to planning that far. I've got a hotel room for the next few days, then I've got to find an apartment or something."

"You could always stay with me and Luffy," Ace grinned.

Sanji turned to him in surprise, "He's back already?"

At this the elder-brother's-pride laugh escaped the brunet, "yeah, apparently he was the top of his class and everything. I thought they got the wrong kid when I got the certificate in the mail."

The blonde exhaled in disbelief. Luffy? _Really?_

Luffy Portgas was one of the few chosen from any high school in their region for a full-ride scholarship to the college or university of his choosing from his athletic record; his top performance usually being in mixed martial arts or boxing. To think that Luffy actually graduated at the top of his class to boot…

"That brother of yours is a real terror, huh?" Sanji laughed, remembering the dorky, energetic freshman from his own junior year in high school. "You'll have your hands full for a while with him back."

Ace just nodded, "Well… If you want, I have a buddy who's renting out a room in his place. He's a good guy, known him for a while. I'll give you his address if you wanna go check the place out."

The cook looked up to his friend with a grateful smile, "sure. Thanks man."

With a last smile and reassuring grip to the shoulder the brunet turned to the small parking lot, leaving the blonde to his own thoughts while the rest of the people cleared out of the hall.

"Ah, excuse me…" A short-ish man wearing a black suit and a bronzed name-tag walked up to the still-smoking cook, a manila folder in his hand. "Are you Sanji Black?"

"Yes."

"Alright, sir." The man opened the folder and pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to the blonde. "This is a list confirming the viewing, burial service, and the reading of the will for these dates and times."

Sanji looked over the paper; the burial was for two days from then, and the will reading in a week after, "Looks right to me."

"Excellent," the man commented, motioning for Sanji to keep the paper before turning to leave. "Thank you Mr. Black, and I am sorry for your loss."

The cook inwardly cringed.

Once the funeral director was gone, Sanji looked back to the sky; such a vivid blue spotted with delicate plots of white clouds… It was nostalgic.

"Don't worry, old man, I'll make our dream come true."


	3. Chapter 3

“God dammit, Ace. I thought you knew where this place was!” Sanji sat in his car with a cell phone mashed against his ear and a spent cigarette crushed between his teeth. He’d pulled off on a small road, trees giving splotched relief from the winter sun. Apparently in the last few years he’d been gone, the whole town had changed. The old east side where he grew up was now closer to the center of town, the entirety of it having been remodeled and redone.

It wasn’t a thing like he remembered it. Thus the unhelpful phone call.

_“No, I do know where it is.”_ The other end of the line buzzed, the click of a zippo lighter carrying through the speaker. _“He’s on the corner of 23 rd and Newhaven.”_

Sanji stretched to look out the window at a nearby street sign, “Yeah, 23rd and Newhaven. That’s where I am.”

_“Then what the problem?”_

The cigarette split between his teeth, “the problem is that this street is all duplexes! You said your friend had an apartment or something! I can’t afford a--”

_“Huh? No no no.”_ Ace interrupted, clicking the zippo again. _“Zoro’s got one half of those, ya know? He’s paying it off but he’s renting out a room so he can pay it off faster.”_

The cook rubbed a hand over his eyes before removing the remains of the cig from his lips, “Shit, Ace. You could’ve told me that sooner.”

_“Forgot.”_

“Yeah, I can tell that, asshole.” Sanji sighed, leaning back in his chair as he heard his friend chuckle. “But I mean it; thanks Ace.”

_“Anytime. You know I’ve got your back.”_

“Yeah, I know.” The blonde unclipped his seatbelt and got out of the car, standing up and shutting the door behind him. “So which number is it again?”

_“113 Newhaven. It should be the one right on the corner.”_

Sure enough, Sanji saw a small red sign that read ‘ROOM FOR RENT’ in the far right window of the duplex across the street from where he stood. It was an old fashioned type of building, in need of general maintenance, but overall in good care. He stared at the dark blue curtains for a moment before making up his mind, “All right, I’m going to go check it out. I’ll call later.”

_“Cool. ‘Luck, Sanji.”_

“Thanks.”

The cook snapped the phone shut and placed it back in his pocket, taking a deep breath of fresh air before looking in the side mirror of the car and adjusting his hair. He liked to make a good first impression, hence the goldenrod, black-pinstriped shirt and a pair of his favorite black jeans. Casual enough for everyday while still looking classy as fuck.

It was perfect.

He strode up the building, climbing the stairs and looking at the rightmost nametag— _Roronoa_. He was in the right place. Straightening his shirt, Sanji knocked on the door and waited.

…and waited.

Nothing.

Cooling his nerves, Sanji knocked again with a little more force; rapping the door harshly with his knuckles.

He waited.

…and waited.

“Fuck this,” the cook swore. He took two steps back and proceeded to kick the door with the heel of his foot. “Oi! I know you’re in there!”

“Shit—coming!” A voice sounded from the other side of the door.

Smirking to himself in satisfaction, Sanji lowered his foot and listened to the sounds of a person rushing around a room. Things were banging and it as very likely something very large tipped over. Before he had any time to question it, the door swung open and in front of him stood the guy he might be bunking with for a while.

He was about the same height as himself, far heavier on the muscles, though. His skin was also a lot more tan than Sanji’s. He had that kind of face that looked pleasant enough but was probably almost demon-like when contorted with anger. The real kicker was that this guy had green hair and three piercings in his left ear.

Ah, hell. Did Ace try to introduce him to some _punk_? No, that was not what he needed right now, thanks. It was only those two little details that seemed to give off that impression though, otherwise he looked fairly normal. He wore a simple t-shirt and blue jeans; the aforementioned hair was short but still managed to stick up in weird angles. He’d clearly just rolled out of bed.

“Are you Mr. Roronoa?” Sanji asked, trying not to judge this book by its green-haired cover.

“Yeah.” The other answered in a low rumbling voice, he didn’t seem like he was too used to being called “mister,” but Sanji was raised on good manners.

The cook stuck out his hand casually, “Sanji Black. Ace Portgas said you’d be expecting me.” The confused look on the man’s face prompted further detail. “I’m here to see about the room for rent.”

“Oh! Yeah, Ace said someone he knew would be coming by,” suddenly the tanned punk was all smiles, completely turning Sanji’s initial impression of him upside down. “Come in, I’ll show you the room. You can just call me Zoro, by the way.”

“Like the masked swordsman?” Sanji chuckled, it was a pretty rare name to have, and he’d be damned if he didn’t crack a joke about it.

Zoro just gave him a look as he removed his shoes, “I don’t do masks.”

Sanji stepped into the building, to his immediate right was a large bookshelf and just beyond it, the space opened up to be a good sized living room. A wall-mounted TV hung on the far wall above a small fireplace and a couch sat just opposite of the curtain-clad windows adjacent to it. A small coffee table sat in the middle of the room with an empty ashtray and some large books. Next to the TV on the floor was a sound system that took up the entire corner—it looked like someone mugged a DJ and shoved the equipment there.

“So, this is the living room,” Zoro said unnecessarily, waving a hand at it before continuing forward. Zoro stopped at the first door on the left and opened it. “This is the room you’d be staying in. You’d have the bathroom next to it to yourself.”

The cook stepped into a small room with one large window; the closet was just adjacent to the door on the right side and a bare, twin sized bed sat nestled in the far corner next to a good sized dresser.

“Cool,” Sanji nodded, walking around the room and looking out the window. “Oh, is it alright if I smoke in here?”

The other shrugged from where he was leaning against the doorframe, “go for it. Just make sure you use an ashtray.”

Sanji hummed in response before turning back to the green-haired landlord, “Can I see the kitchen?”

“Sure.”

Alright, Sanji thought. This is what will either make or break this deal—it better at least have a stove, sink, fridge and pantry or this is just not going to work. Even though he’d pretty much decided that this place was exactly what he was looking for, if there was no decent kitchen, he was out the door.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Though small, the kitchen was extremely well equipped—full sized stove top and oven, double sink, more counter space than he thought was possible for the small space and stainless-steel fridge. There was a small pantry nestled in the corner and a spice rack hung from a wall near a calendar next to rows of upper cabinets.

All it lacked was a microwave, and that suited Sanji just fine.

The blonde took a moment to walk around the space, noting pots hanging above the small island in the center and the bar that separated the kitchen from the pitifully small dining area. Three stools lined it on the opposite side and above them sat racks that normally held crystalline glassware.

Sanji turned back to Zoro who watched from one of the barstools, his fingers laced on the countertop. Zoro gestured to the space, “so. What’dya think?”

Sanji shoved his hands in his pockets, fiddling with his lighter as he weighed his options mentally. He nodded to himself with a slight smile, “it’s good. I’ll take it.”

Zoro paused for a moment, clearly processing the words—it was likely he hadn’t thought he’d ever get someone to take the deal, especially judging by how long Ace claimed he’d been looking for a renter. The green-haired man smiled then and stood up from his stool, reaching a hand out to shake Sanji’s in a deal. The cook took it with a firm shake and the other nodded; “now we just gotta sign some papers.”


	4. Chapter 4

It would be easy to say that living with Zoro was different. After their initial meeting, Sanji filled out some of the address change papers and a small contract to keep his part of the payment deal. With Ace’s help they’d managed to move all of his things into the building the next day.

Sanji had a shit ton of clothes.

Also, being ever the chef, he even took the liberty of bringing his own cook wear and spices from his old estate. It quickly overflowed Zoro’s kitchen, and while the green-haired landlord didn’t seem to mind, it was obvious that he wasn’t used to so many appliances.

“Don’t you just need a pot, a pan and a wooden spoon?”

It was the worst possible question to leave Zoro’s mouth as Sanji was arranging the kitchen space—and it was probably why they didn’t always see eye to eye.

 “Uh, I don’t know what planet you live on,” Sanji started, grinding a cigarette between his teeth. “But where I come from, food has sustenance, and layers and flavor—which often requires more than just a _wooden spoon_.” He snapped, the spite in his voice clearly evident.

Zoro just shrugged, “just don’t see what the big deal is. It all comes out the same, right?”

If he hadn’t ducked, the pan Sanji was holding would have gone through Zoro’s head. As it were, it just hit the opposite wall and luckily landed in a bubble-wrap filled box, causing the room to erupt with loud snapping sounds.

Sanji said nothing after that, just continued to complete his task of arranging the kitchen and his personal items, pointedly ignoring the tanned man whenever he happened to wander nearby.

That night, Sanji sat on top of his bed, the window cracked open as he smoked his second cigarette that night. He leaned back against the wall, exhaling the spicy fumes as he watched stars slowly blink into visibility.

He rubbed his eyes slowly, “hey old man.” he started, his voice rasping, quiet and yet loud in the silence. “So… I live here now. With this—I don’t know what to call him; punk?—I dunno. He seems like an okay enough guy. I should spar with him someday… might be fun to kick his ass if he pisses me off again.”

The cook chuckled harshly, leaning his head back once more to the wall behind him, his eyes fixed on an unknown constellation. “I meant what I said, old man. I’m gonna make it happen. _All Blue_ will be real—our dream will be real. I swear it.”

Sanji breathed in deeply, inhaling the frosted air from outside before he snuffed out the cig in his bedside ashtray and shut the window. He turned so that he could get under the covers of his new bed in his new room in his new place. It was strange, but Sanji would make it work.

That night Sanji dreamt of his return to work the day after tomorrow and what he could possibly scrape up for breakfast with the shit-little food Zoro had left in the kitchen.

=x=x=x=

“Do you go to the gym?”

“Hm?”

Zoro sat at the bar with a tall cup of coffee while Sanji stood at the stove, pan frying some potatoes and eggs he’d managed to find earlier. The cook had woken up early to start his search for food and take inventory of what they had to work with. After the little he’d seen, he definitely planned to make a grocery trip that afternoon.

Shopping for ingredients was always a pleasure.

Zoro had walked in on him when he’d been warming up the pan and dicing up his potatoes and onions, drawn in by the smell of sizzling garlic.

He took a large swig of his coffee. “Do you go to the gym at all?” he repeated.

Sanji tossed the finely chopped potatoes in the pan, “Sometimes, if I get some free time.” He slid a fork into his mixture and took a taste, nodding to himself as the garlicy flavor washed over his tongue. He grabbed a couple of plates from an overhead cupboard and served the potatoes before covering eat mound with a perfectly fried egg. He topped it off with a dash of paprika and set it in front of his house-mate.

Zoro smiled, breaking apart the egg and watching the yoke run down the small mountain of potatoes. He dug in happily, warm yoke running down his chin in his haste. Sanji wouldn’t admit it to his face, but the sight of his landlord enjoying his cooking made some strange tension loosen from his chest.

Aforementioned landlord swallowed thickly, licking his lips as he continued, “I was just wondering ‘cause Ace said you do a lot of martial arts, and I was wondering if you wanted to spar sometime.” He looked up almost expectantly.

Hadn’t Sanji been thinking the very same thing the night before? “Sure, that’d be cool.” He nodded, starting in on his own plate. It wasn’t as good as it could have been with his limited spice selection, but it was pretty damn delicious anyway. He grinned to himself—another meal, another success.

A plate was suddenly thrust into his line of vision; Sanji looked up to see Zoro’s grinning face, still covered in bits of crusted yoke and onion. “Are there any more potatoes?”

Sanji stared dead-pan at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, gesturing to the skillet behind him with his thumb, “get it your own damn self!”

Zoro just smirked and made his way around the bar to get seconds, “accidentally” bumping into Sanji in a very un-subtle manner. Sanji smirked; maybe this guy wasn’t so bad after all… As long as he stayed the hell out of the kitchen.

Picking up his own plate, Sanji stabbed Zoro’s back with his elbow—the damn punk was eating straight out of the pan! “Hey, stop that!” He growled, not appreciating Zoro’s utter disregard for his appliances. He began rinsing off his plate, “hey, I’m going shopping for some food today, do you need anything?” He figured it was only polite to ask, even though he mentally cringed at anything Zoro might deem edible judging by what was left in the freezer.

Zoro stared up thoughtfully, chewing a mouthful of potatoes before mumbling, “mffbr shrmf rff--”

Sanji promptly whacked him with a rolled towel, “chew, swallow, speak.”

One large swallow later, Zoro glared at Sanji before continuing, “you should pick up some rice. Not the Jasmine kind, though, I like sticky rice.”

At this little display of cooking knowledge, Sanji almost choked. Here he thought Zoro knew nothing, but he had at least one little tidbit going for him. Well then.

“Sure,” Sanji replied, writing it on a small scrap of paper for shopping. Zoro scooted by Sanji, holding his plate and the empty skillet—at least he didn't waste anything. Sanji silently approved.

“I work at the gym on weekdays,” Zoro said, almost offhandedly. “I teach a kendo class from two til’ four most days. Then I usually stay for the advanced kenjutsu and MMA sessions after that, so I don’t get back until about eight, eight-thirty.”

“Damn,” Sanji whistled. “That must be killer on your night life.”

Zoro shook his head, smiling wryly, “not if you didn’t have much of one to begin with. ‘Sides, I get the weekends off.” He shrugged a shoulder, rinsing out the now spotless skillet. “Never been much of one for night life, anyway. I’m a more get-drunk-with-your-friends-playing-poker-at-home kinda guy.”

Sanji couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image of him, Ace, and Luffy sprawled all over a sofa, betting potato chips instead of poker chips, and completely sloshed, “yeah, I can see the appeal in that.”

Zoro grunted, hanging the skillet on the overhead rack.

Checking his watch, Sanji clicked his tongue, “alright, I’m off to the store. Later.”

“Later.” His landlord responded with a half-hearted wave.

With a jingle of his keys, Sanji shut the door and was off. If he was going to be starting again, he was going to need some fresh ingredients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters are short and slow going, but i've just recently picked this back up from a while ago--i will do my best!!


End file.
